


Taking Care

by Melodious329



Category: Kane (Band), Supernatural RPF
Genre: M/M, hurt/comfort bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-19
Updated: 2011-04-19
Packaged: 2017-10-18 08:59:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/187184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melodious329/pseuds/Melodious329
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hurt/Comfort Bingo Square:  Minor Illness</p><p>Jensen comes to LA for a visit, but it turns out he's sick.  But what's up with Christian?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taking Care

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I neither own nor know the real persons after whom these characters are created

Christian wakes on his side with Steve wrapped around him, rocking behind him, into him, Steve’s hard dick sliding between his asscheeks in the leftover lube from last night. He’s reaching for a condom, passing it over his shoulder before he’s even really awake. And from the pause before Steve stops rocking long enough to take the condom and put it on, Steve was mostly asleep.

When Steve’s heat moves away, Christian shifts his left leg forward and then Steve is there, pressing inside, only the lube from the condom to ease the way. But Christian is warm and loose, burying his face in the pillow at the friction, the drag on his inner walls as Steve’s cock forces them to give, the fullness and pressure that for a moment always seems overwhelming.

Steve presses in deep, the heat of his body pressed up against Christian’s own, head to toe, Steve’s breath whispering out into Christian’s hair. Steve pulls out just a little and then presses back in, angled perfectly that all Christian feels is that overwhelming pressure, sparking electric pleasure, warmth flowing in his gut. Steve knows just how he likes it and Steve loves him in the morning.

Christian chokes out a jagged moan, his left hand going out to brace himself on the mattress so he can push back. Steve’s hand strokes over his skin from his sensitive ribcage over his hip to the outside of his thigh before stroking inwards over his belly and down to grasp his dick. Christian groans again, deep and honest, his body undulating between the sensations, slow and languid.

Steve starts thrusting harder, his cock banging deep inside, sending sharper bolts of pleasure to Christian’s balls even as Steve’s talented fingers play over the head of Christian’s cock, rough calluses firm on sensitive skin. Christian whines, thin and needy, probably sounding like a dying desperate animal as his fingers clench in pale sheets, his hips pressing back for more, his back arching.

Ohgodsoclose he chokes and bites his lip, bites the pillow as the pressure seems overwhelming again, warmth in his belly and spreading down all the way into his thighs, his hips jerking spastically as he rides that perfect crest of pleasure and then it breaks, like a white noise roar, like relief. He’s barely aware of Steve’s grip becoming slick as he pulses, crest and release, again and again.

As soon as his body goes limp, Steve is pushing him onto his front, driving in deeper, harder, thrusts that pull out to the tip only to shove in to the root, friction on skin so sensitive Christian twitches and shakes with it, but he can’t get away, Steve’s weight holds him down, crushing him into the mattress, his face mashed into the pillow, body jolting under the force of Steve’s thrusts.

It’s not long before Steve’s thrusts lose their rhythm, Steve’s teeth digging into soft flesh between Christian’s shoulder and neck as he shoves in far enough for Christian to cry out sharply, but Steve keeps thrusting, shorter, shallower thrusts. His full weight collapses on Christian for a moment, before Steve is pulling out, pulling away only to return and lie on Christian some more.

Christian lets him for a while, even though Steve’s weight is making it pretty hard to breathe and the pillow isn’t helping. Steve is hot and sweaty, slick skin against his own, and yet it’s comfortable, sheltered. Until Steve starts mouthing over the bite mark on his neck, sucking on it.

“Ow, fucker,” Christian complains, elbowing Steve a little. “We’ve gotta get up. Can’t lie in bed all day today.”

Steve just kinda groans and mumbles in response and doesn’t move an inch. Christian really wants to just drop it, just let himself be suffocated under Steve’s weight, but Jensen is coming into LA today. The three of them haven’t seen each other since Jensen’s wedding and he knows Steve was looking forward to it as much as he is.

Resigned, Christian gets his hands on the bed and then pushes up on one side until Steve is forced to roll off. Then Christian decides to flop onto Steve’s stomach, causing Steve to grunt in pain but Christian kisses it away.

“We’ve got to get up, but we could shower together,” Christian offers huskily.

Steve laughs low and seductive, “And how would we be able to let Jensen in if we did that?”

Christian thinks about it. If they shower together, it’ll take a lot longer and Jensen will undoubtedly arrive at their house in the middle of it.

Huffing in frustration, Christian gives. “Fine, but I get first shower,” he says as he crawls off Steve’s body and off the bed. He doesn’t know why he bothers calling it, Steve has never once given a shit about first shower or being on time for that matter.

In fact when he gets out of the shower a few minutes later, walking back into the bedroom naked and using the towel to dry his hair, Steve hasn’t moved a fucking inch and probably won’t until Christian is dressed. To speed the process along, Christian drops his wet towel on Steve’s chest. Steve doesn’t even move, doesn’t even move the towel. Damn hippie.

Christian pulls on his jeans and a t-shirt that passes the sniff test, tying a bandana to keep his hair back. “I’ll be downstairs with Jensen, whenever you decide to join us,” he says heading to the doorway.

Once he gets there though, he can’t help looking back at Steve still laid out on the bed, one arm over his forehead showing the curve of his bicep, pink lips slightly open, the cut of his hips, trail of dark hair leading down to his dick limp lying against his right thigh. Course then the fucker moves his arm, catching Christian staring at him and smiling that sappy, adoring smile he has whenever he thinks Christian is being cute.

“Just get your ass downstairs,” Christian growls before he heads downstairs himself.

His first stop is to the kitchen to set the coffeemaker going and then he’s making a pile of eggs and toast which’ll probably be cold by the time Steve gets down here. Christian himself is half done with eating when the doorbell rings.

Smiling, Christian slurps down a sip of coffee before standing. He is looking forward to this, looking forward to just hanging out, going out, maybe having a barbecue here…

When he opens the door, Jensen’s tall frame is leaning against his door, a duffel bag at his feet and a smile on his lips. Christian wastes no time pulling Jensen into a hug, tipping his chin up to fit over Jensen’s shoulder as their bodies press together. He holds on a second, long enough to feel the warmth and comfort of a true friend before he’s clapping Jensen on the back and separating, immediately bending down to grab Jensen’s bag.

“Well, c’mon in, stranger,” he says as he waits for Jensen to step inside so he can close the door.

“Hey, have you had breakfast yet?” Christian asks as he steps past Jensen to put the bag outside the door of the downstairs bedroom. “I’ve got some coffee, I know you want that.”

But Christian turns around to see Jensen swiping at his nose. “Is that…your nose is bleeding.” Christian states the obvious, grabbing the box of tissues from beside the couch and hurrying over.

Jensen takes one gratefully and holds it to his nose, wiping away the small trickle of blood. “Been rubbing it a lot, I guess,” Jensen admits sheepishly.

But now that Christian is looking, Jensen looks a little pale, his nose a little red, his eyes a little bloodshot. “You’re sick,” Christian accuses.

“I’m not,” Jensen defends childishly. “Look, we can still go out, have some beers…”

“The only place you’re going is the couch,” Christian growls, wrapping one arm around Jensen’s waist to direct him. “And no beers…”

“Why no beers?” Steve asks , Christian looking up to see him come down the stairs.

“Jensen’s sick,” Christian answers.

“I am not,” Jensen defends again, then continues in a whine. “Guys, we haven’t spent time together in ages. I don’t want to ruin it.”

“You’re not ruining a thing,” Christian assures even as he uses one hand on Jensen’s shoulder to push him down onto the couch. He leaves his hand there, giving it a comforting squeeze, as he continues, “We’re still gonna spend time together, which is all we really need.”

Jensen gives him a weak smile, big eyes look soulfully up at him, but then Steve is coming over and Christian steps back. Steve immediately puts a hand to Jensen’s forehead.

“What kinda sick?” Steve asks, sitting down next to Jensen.

“Just my sinuses, a little headache, a little nausea,” Jensen gives in, settling back against the couch and letting Steve fuss over him. Christian smiles a little, looks at Jensen’s big eyes and pouting lips and knows no one is immune, particularly not Christian himself. It doesn’t matter he knows perfectly well that Jensen is an adult who can actually take care of himself. When Jensen’s sick, he just screams help me.

“Have you eaten anything?” Steve continues. “Taken anything?”

“I had some toast this morning, and no, I didn’t have anything to take before I had to make my flight,” Jensen recounts.

“Christian?” Steve asks, not taking his eyes off Jensen like he’ll get worse if Steve isn’t watching.

“Yep,” Christian answers.

“Can you go to the store?” Steve asks, finally risking a glance at Christian. “Get some cold/flu medicine, Jensen might have a fever. Maybe some Sprite.”

“Ok,” Christian says and he turns away to slip his feet in the shoes he left by the door yesterday.

“Maybe some crackers,” Steve adds.

“Got it,” Christian says, grabbing his car keys before turning back to the couch. “Anything else?”

Jensen looks at him like if looks could kill, Christian would be smoldering, but Steve is oblivious to Jensen’s ire as he smoothes back Jensen’s short hair. “Nope,” Steve says, “But take your cell.”

Christian rolls his eyes as he turns and opens the front door. Steve in mothering mode is a sight to behold.

He hums a little as he walks to his truck, definitely not upset that Jensen is sick. Well, he’s sorry Jensen is sick, but it’s not ruining anything. They’ll pile on the couch and fight over the remote and order pizza and catch up and frankly, that’s almost as good as what he was planning anyway.

Parking at the nearby grocery, he even remembers to grab the re-usable grocery bag Steve bought him before shutting the door. But turning around, he has only a second to see a seemingly floating pile of lumber swinging at him. There’s no time to move out of the way and instead, Christian catches them in his stomach, the force of it doubling him over.

Fucking shit, Christian thinks, gasping as he staggers back out of the way. One hand reaches toward his truck to steady himself and the other holds his stomach. Jesus Christ, he swears internally as he grimaces in an attempt to straighten up.

“Hey, man, you ok?” some idiot calls out, helping to finally stow the damn lumber in the back of another truck.

“Yeah,” Christian growls, his free hand feeling along his ribs, but they feel fine. It’s just that his stomach is gonna have a helluva bruise across it. Great.

Dumbass, he accuses internally before pushing off the truck and trying to make his way into the store one step at a time. The whole way he has to fight against wanting to curl over again, his stomach flaring with pain like the time he did break a couple of ribs, just slightly lower. He resists the urge to hunch, but his walk is definitely stiff, his stomach muscles tight.

Inside he grabs a hand basket and starts his way around with his teeth still gritted. He grabs two types of meds, crackers, Kleenex, but when he picks up a package of canned Sprite, Christian practically drops it, the pull on his stomach muscles so horrific he can’t stifle the surprised cry of pain.

Stupidly, he looks around as he hunches over a little, biting his lip like he’s going to bite through it, the basket and the Sprite hanging toward the ground from his outstretched arms. It’s just a fucking punch to the stomach, he tells himself viciously. Get over it, he thinks as he forces himself to pull the items back up to his chest and then walk to the checkout.

The two guys and their lumber are gone when Christian makes it back outside. He curses them again under his breath as he unlocks his car and then struggles to lift the package of Sprite over to the passenger seat. He’s sweating as he climbs in and the simple idea of the seatbelt is too much to contemplate. Christian leaves it off, ain’t like Steve or his momma is here to see him.

His face seems stuck in a permanent grimace by the time he gets back to the house and he has to spend a minute in the car trying to calm down, trying to get a deep breath. It’s not even a big deal. When did he become a huge pussy?

He manages to smooth out his face and fortunately, neither Steve nor Jensen look at him closely when he comes in, holding the groceries close to his chest.

“Anything good on?” he asks on his way to the kitchen.

“Nope,” Steve answers. Christian puts the groceries on the counter and looks back to see Jensen half-asleep on Steve’s shoulder. He’s smiling a little as he turns back around, opening the refrigerator and putting the damn package of Sprites inside. He reaches up to open a cupboard, but he has to stop again, the pull on his stomach muscles stopping him cold. Gripping the counter with white knuckles, Christian bites his lip and tries again to breathe, sweat on his upper lip.

Growling a little, Christian reaches again, prepared this time for the sting that races in his gut as he pulls down a couple of glasses. He puts some ice in them and pours in a can of sprite, taking the glasses, crackers, medicine, and Kleenex into the living room.

“Here you go,” Christian says as he puts the supplies on the coffeetable. Jensen stirs sleepily and Christian can’t help but stroke his hand through messy short hair. “If you keep this down then I’ll make some sandwiches for lunch.”

Christian pulls his hand back and starts to step away when Steve asks, “What’s wrong with you?”

For a second Christian has no idea who or what Steve is asking then he realizes that Steve is asking him. “Nothing,” he starts before he realizes that his tight expression must be visible for Steve to have asked. “Just an accident. Two idiots hit me with some lumber,” Christian says putting a hand to his stomach in explanation.

“Go get an icepack,” Steve says.

“Naw,” Christian answers, sitting in a nearby armchair. He doubts a fucking icepack is gonna do any good. It’s still gonna bruise.

Steve looks at him a second more then turns back to the tv. Jensen’s already munching on his crackers, offering the package to Steve whom Christian would bet didn’t eat breakfast. And Steve was right, there is nothing on tv. They’re watching an old rerun of the original CSI.

Christian drums his fingers on the arms of the chair, fidgety with pain, unable to keep from biting his lip but looking away in hopes that Steve won’t see him. At the end of the episode, Steve reaches toward the other end of the couch for the remote at the same time as Jensen stands up. But then Jensen falters, tilting to the side like he’s gonna fall.

Christian is out of the chair before he can even consider it, but the pain as he straightens again hits him like a Mack truck, almost making him cry out. He hesitates half a second before he forces himself to keep moving to Jensen’s side before the kid can fall over.

Reaching an arm around Jensen, Christian has to use his stomach muscles to steady them both and reflexive tears come to his eyes at the pain.

He takes a deep breath before saying, “Whoa, there. Where’re you trying to go?”

“Just the bathroom,” Jensen answers. “Must’ve stood up too fast.”

“How ‘bout we just go together,” Christian offers, looking up to find his view of Steve is blocked by Jensen. Together they manage to toddle to the bathroom where Jensen goes inside, glaring at Christian as he shuts the door.

Christian waits, leaning against the wall and holding his stomach. He has just enough time to wipe at the moisture on his face, sweat and tears before the door’s opening and he’s quickly standing up straight. “You puking in there?” Christian immediately asks, only half-joking.

“No, no puking,” Jensen says, rolling his eyes.

“Good, how does grilled cheese sound then?” Christian offers.

The offer makes a little grin appear on Jensen’s face as he says sure and lets Christian lay a light hand on his back as they return to the couch.

“I’ll make some lunch,” Christian tells Steve, letting Steve help Jensen down onto the couch so he doesn’t have to bend over. Once back in the kitchen though, he slumps against the counter, his body curling in. He needs something to do to take his mind off the pain, but moving is a bitch.

Fortunately the pan’s are in the bottom cabinets. He sets to work, making a pile of sandwiches, the repetitive movements soothing in a way. The smell of the sandwiches, though, sets his stomach roiling. He turns his face away from the stove so fast he has to grab onto a table chair to keep from falling over.

Jesus, whatever Jensen has must be a virulent son of a bitch, he thinks to himself. No wonder that knock to the stomach is hurting so much, he must be coming down with what Jensen has.

That’s just great, Christian thinks. Two of them sick and that means Steve’ll probably get it too, is probably sitting on that couch right now soaking up the germs. Or Steve will end up taking care of the both of them.

But he’s fine. Steve doesn’t need to take care of him. Even if he doesn’t want food himself, he can still manage to make sandwiches for the two of them. He’s not dying and he doesn’t need a nursemaid. They’ll all just sit around the tv like they planned. No big deal.

He’s still drumming his knuckles on the counter, fidgeting and biting his lips as he waits for the sandwiches to cook. The smell is pervasive though, the heat seeming to surround him, and Christian’s stomach turns painfully, sweat trailing down the side of his face.

Gagging a little, the twist in his gut agony, Christian hunches over and bats one hand at the stove to turn it off. Then he’s trying to shuffle his way to the bathroom as quickly as possible with his still stiff steps. As he leans over the toilet though, he has one moment of fear, thinking how much it’s going to hurt with the bruise on his stomach, but it’s unstoppable. He heaves, miserable as his stomach cramps.

It doesn’t last long, thank god before he’s sitting back and flushing the toilet, trying not to breathe in the scent of bile that might set him off again. He feels bloated, like there’s not enough room inside as he manages to stand at the sink.

Wiping his lips, Christian rinses his hands and mouth, spitting pink water in the sink lie he bit his tongue. Presumably this sickness Jensen gave him is worse at the beginning because Jensen doesn’t currently look as bad as Christian feels right now. Hopefully the bad part is like 24 hours and then he’ll just feel weak and crappy.

His stomach stills feels crampy and solid as he goes back into the kitchen, but he manages to check on the sandwiches without wanting to puke again. At least he didn’t burn them so he doesn’t have to start over. Putting the burner back on, he toasts them a second more to warm them back up and puts them on a plate.

He looks up as Steve comes in the room, going to the refrigerator to grab a couple more Sprites. “Thanks babe,” Steve says seeing the sandwiches. “Did you want a Sprite?”

Christian just shakes his head and heads into the living room putting the plates down on the coffee table again. He doesn’t stay though, moving away even as Steve comes in and sits down again. Steve’ll think he’s making more sandwiches for himself, but Christian instead just does the dishes. Steve doesn’t need to worry about him too. He thinks hard about trying some Sprite though. Maybe it would settle his stomach, but the thought just makes the hard rock in his stomach seem heavier.

Doing the dishes seems to take forever, though. He keeps his elbows tucked into his body and moves stiffly, stopping to breathe and grit his teeth frequently.

As soon as he steps away from the counter, he starts to feel lightheaded, like he stood up too fast or something. Slowly he starts moving into the living room, moving from counter to table chairs to the doorframe to the closest armchair.

He’s panting by the time he makes it there, his head spinning as he sits down stiffly, the change in position making the pain in his stomach spike momentarily so he’s gripping each arm of the chair and pressing his head back into the cushion like he’s on a roller coaster. He can’t hide how he feels at this point, but Steve and Jensen are engrossed in something on the television, Jensen now lying with his head on a pillow in Steve’s lap.

Sometimes, Christian admits that he envies the easy way Steve can give and receive comfort. People don’t expect comfort from him so Christian finds it difficult to give it, unsure of how it will be received.

Biting his lip, Christian looks away. The pain doesn’t seem manageable anymore and he’s still panting, feeling like he can’t get enough air into his lungs. Maybe he should stand back up he thinks, letting out a small moan as he struggles to his feet.

The change in position makes him suddenly nauseous and the pain seems to spike from his stomach to the top of his head. For a second he feels like he can’t breathe at all, like he’s falling through oxygen-devoid space, and then he’s kneeling on the carpet, puking, the pain of it like something’s been torn open inside him. The last thing he feels is the scratch of the carpet on his cheek as he gasps.

***

“Chris?” Steve asks, unsure what’s going on as he turns his head at the sound of Christian falling to his knees. Jensen is already sitting up from his lap when they hear the wretching, harsh sounds like they’re being wrenched from Christian’s chest.

“Christian!” Steve gasps as he propels himself to his knees at Christian’s side. “Baby, what’s wrong?” he can’t help asking even though Christian can’t answer right now, he’s too busy making these horrible choking sounds.

He’s just laying a hand on Christian’s heaving back when Christian suddenly collapses, falling over on his side. Instead Steve grasps a muscular shoulder and pulls Christian over to his back.

Christian’s breathing too fast, Steve can hear it, sawing in and out of Christian’s mouth and that’s when he sees it. There’s a line of red dribbling down Christian’s right cheek, painting his lips wet, blood.

“Fuck. Baby? Baby, can you hear me?” he asks, moving his hand hesitantly to cup Christian’s unsullied cheek. Christian’s pale and Steve can feel sweat on his cold skin. But Christian’s eyelids don’t even flutter at the sound of Steve’s voice.

He’s totally forgotten about their company when Jensen kneels down on Christian’s other side, a cell phone pressed to his ear. Jensen’s talking but Steve can’t seem to hear the words, it’s all white noise as he watches Jensen’s fingers pull up Christian’s shirt.

“Holy shit,” Steve breathes, seeing the black bruise that is a line across Christian’s torso. What the fuck happened?

He’s startled at the feel of Jensen’s hand on his shoulder, too busy watching Christian breathe, making sure he keeps breathing. It takes him a minute to register what Jensen says.

“I called an ambulance.”

Steve chokes on his own breath when he realizes he didn’t do that, didn’t think to get Christian help. His eyes fill with tears then, but he wipes them away angrily. He has to keep watching.

His hands reach out toward Christian again, smoothing the hair back that’s escaped from Christian’s bandanna, stroking his knuckles down the side of Christian’s face. He wants to rub off the blood but doesn’t know if he should, if it’s important. He doesn’t know what other parts of Christian he shouldn’t touch.

He can’t seem to breathe as the paramedics finally get there, Jensen pulling him back so he can’t interfere. He has to cover his mouth with both hands, trying to keep in the sound of the sobs being wrenched from him just as Christian is wrenched away.

“Do you have any of Christian’s medical information?”

“What?” Steve asks, looking up through wet eyelashes, unable to comprehend what Jensen is asking now that Christian is out of his sight.

“Do you have any of Christian’s medical information? Any documents or anything?” Jensen asks again slowly, holding onto Steve’s elbow with a firm grip.

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve finally utters. “Christian left…”

Jensen follows him into the spare bedroom that has been dubbed the music room. There’s a cabinet full of papers and Steve draws a stack from the top. Steve doesn’t even look at them, only waits dumbfounded while Jensen leafs through the first three or so sheets.

“Ok, good, great,” Jensen says, seemingly half to himself and half to Steve who is half-listening. “Christian may be a thrill-seeking idiot, but at least he’s prepared.”

Steve barely manages to get his feet in the shoes Jensen points him to and then they’re in the car.

***

When they step into the emergency department, Steve comes to himself, immediately asking Jensen. “Where is he? How do we find out what’s going on?”

Jensen simply leads them to the desk, asking about Christian Kane and handing over documents. Amazingly the woman just smiles back and tells them that someone will update them on the patient’s condition as soon as possible.

“Really?” Steve questions even as he lets Jensen lead him over a seat. “But I’m not family…? We can’t even be family.”

“No, but fortunately, Christian had a hipaa medical disclosure document. You probably don’t even remember signing it.”

They’ve barely sat down when a young man in green scrubs is calling out, “Mr. Carlson?”

Steve practically falls out of the low chair in an effort to get to the man immediately. “Yes, yes, that’s me. How is he? How’s Christian?”

“We are taking him into surgery now. He’s bleeding into his abdomen and went into hypovolemic shock. We have conducted some tests to determine the source. He was vomiting blood earlier?”

“Yes, I don’t know why. He just fell to his knees in the living room…”

The doctor speaks into the silence as Steve trails off. “Was he in an accident today? Maybe a car accident?”

“No. Well, not to my…He said someone hit him in the stomach with lumber earlier, but that was hours ago.”

“They must have hit him pretty hard,” the doctor murmurs. “Ok, we’ll let you know as soon as we can and a nurse will escort you to the surgical waiting area.”

Turning around in a confused circle, Steve motions for Jensen to join him as a shorter brunette woman approaches him.

Unfortunately in the surgical waiting room there is nothing to do but wait. Steve sits down heavily, scraping his nails over his scalp and through his tangled hair. He looks up when the nurse comes back to bring Jensen a box of tissues.

“You’re sick. Jesus, you should be at home,” Steve says unthinking.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Jensen says. “A little cold isn’t quite as important as finding out what’s happening with Christian.”

“What if you infect others?” Steve asks, but feels immediately guilty when he sees the stricken expression on Jensen’s face.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says as his hands go back in his hair.

“No, I get it,” Jensen answers tiredly. “You’re trying to mother me because you can’t mother him through this. And because it’s easier to mother me than it is him,” Jensen says with a little grin.

Steve just stares at his friend for a moment. Jensen is certainly right that Christian isn’t an easy person to comfort, whereas Jensen accepts comfort with the usual grace of the miserable, but he accepts it. This whole fucking episode is a clear indication that Christian doesn’t want to be mothered, but he damn well needs to be.

“It was his little accident,” Steve blurts out. “His ‘some idiot whacked me’,” Steve says in an obnoxious fake southern accent imitating Christian’s earlier story.

“He was bleeding to death right in front of me,” Steve says, breaking off as tears threaten to start again. He knew that Christian was acting funny, moving a little funny, but he didn’t think it was serious. How could he not have done something? How could Christian not have said something?

“Christ,” Jensen says quietly before he puts an arm around Steve’s shoulders. “That boy has some fucking wires crossed. But he’s going to be ok. They’re gonna take good care of him.”

“And then I’m gonna kill him,” Steve says, laughing a little even as tears start to track down his cheeks. But then he whispers, “He has to be ok. I can’t…he has to be ok.”

In all it’s more than three hours later that a surgeon still dressed in scrubs but thankfully not covered in blood comes out to speak to him. Steve feels awkward moving away from Jensen to talk to the doctor since it’s only due to Jensen’s quick thinking that he’s getting any information at all.

“How is he?” Steve says, rushing through the words that this guy must hear a million times a day.

“He’s stable and resting right now. It looks like he suffered blunt abdominal trauma, probably a direct blow to the abdomen. Over a period of hours, he bled into the abdominal cavity as well as in his intestines. He was in shock on arrival and we evaluated him using a technique known as focused abdominal sonogram for trauma and then prepped for surgery. There was injury to his spleen which resulted in hemorrhage as well as liver laceration, which were both sutured, and injury to his upper small intestine. We did give him a blood transfusion while in surgery,” the doctor recites.

“He’s going to be ok?” Steve asks.

“He’s in post-surgical recovery now, but he’ll be moved to the intensive care unit. After the volume of blood that he lost, we’ll be looking at the recovery of his organs closely, and there is a high possibility of infection. We’ll know more in 48 hours.”

Stunned, Steve returns to Jensen, explaining as much as he can, mostly words like shock, bleeding and ICU. They head up to the ICU together even though Jensen won’t be allowed inside. Jensen simply waits as Steve checks in at the desk then washes his hands. His initial visit is limited to five minutes so that they can check on the patient afterwards.

Christian is so full of tubes Steve is afraid to touch him. What if he’s carried Jensen’s illness in? What if Christian simply waited too long to collapse and it’s too late? Christian’s eyes flutter, vivid blue against the paleness of Christian’s skin, but he doesn’t seem to see Steve, only looking disoriented and pained.

Steve’s crying when he comes out. Jensen hugs him tight as Steve composes himself, waiting to go back inside. The hospital staff told him not to upset Christian so he has to stay calm or he won’t be allowed inside.

As Steve is allowed back inside the ICU, Jensen goes outside to call all of Christian’s friends and family, saving Steve from having to tell Christian’s momma how stupid they both are. Then Jensen will have to leave, unable to see Christian because of his cold. Steve will be staying as long as it takes and the ICU waiting room is set up for him to easily do that with blankets and foldout beds.

He takes the seat by the bed and reaches out to hold Christian’s hand, the skin cool and smooth. For a moment, he looks at the various tubes, reminding himself what the nurse said about what they are, what they’re for, nasogastric tube on Christian’s face, IV line in Christian’s arm, and under the blanket a Foley catheter for urine and a JP drain from Christian’s abdomen. He’s thinking that if he faces each of them, then it won’t be as scary, but it doesn’t work. All he can see is Christian looking like a Frankenstein, like a doll, like someone small and fragile who can’t survive on his own.

How could something so normal like going to the grocery have turned into this, Steve asks himself. He tries not to look at all the other patients, all hooked up just like Christian, surrounded by their families who are facing the possibility of having to say goodbye. He can’t, he can’t imagine a life without Christian, a world without Christian in it…

“Son, you’re gonna have to let go of my hand while I still have feeling in it.”

Shocked, Steve drops Christian’s hand before looking down. Christian’s still pale, still hooked up to machines, but he’s awake, aware, and smiling that lopsided silly grin. Though his voice is hoarse like he’s been screaming, Christian is still bitching. He’s still Christian.

Choking back tears so he doesn’t upset Christian or anyone else in this room, Steve tries to smile and picks Christian’s hand back up, more gently this time.

“You look like shit, darlin’,” Christian drawls, squeezing Steve’s hand lightly.

“Right back atcha,” Steve says.

***

48 hours later, Christian has been situated in a regular hospital room. The tubes haven’t been removed yet, but Christian has moved on from ice chips to clear fluids. The pain on Christian’s face at time seems to be a palpable presence in the room, hurting Steve just to be watching. But as usual, Christian perseveres, doesn’t acknowledge it or if he does, makes a joke about it. He’s quiet a lot, and sleeps a lot.

Jensen comes around about one, and Christian smiles to see him. “Hey, how’re you feelin’?”

“Better,” Jensen says smiling as he comes up to Christian. Steve can clearly see the way Jensen’s hands clench before he stuffs them in his pockets. He knows very well that Jensen wants to touch, but doesn’t know if this kind of touching would be ok while Christian is this vulnerable. Jensen’s not always the best at initiating comfort either.

“Well, good,” Christian continues. “Though, I could have used you to take some of Steve’s mothering attention away from me.” Christian laughs and it sounds like he’s choking.

That’s when Steve can’t take it anymore. Christian is out of the ICU and no one is constantly reminding Steve not to upset or excite Christian and he’s got a few things he’s been waiting to say.

“Don’t even joke like that,” Steve whispers, leaning down to Christian while still holding his hand. “If you ever do something so stupid again, I will kill you myself. You have no idea how I felt, watching you vomit blood, listening to the doctor’s talk about organ failure, knowing that you were in pain and I didn’t do anything to help because you didn’t tell me.”

Steve’s eyes fill with tears as he watches Christian’s wide eyes, but he doesn’t let the emotions overwhelm him now. “I am going to mother-hen the ever-loving shit out of you, Christian Kane. And so is Jensen, and you’re going to like it. And just in case any of this is unclear, your momma will be here tomorrow to explain it to you again.”

Jensen just smiles and moves over to Christian’s other side, pulling up a chair and running a hand through Christian’s hair.


End file.
